Fan Fears: A collection of fear based stories

by Michael Bray

  “Will you be alright? I’m going to try and get back to the road and get some help.”

  “Gnff. Fgrrrrmph.” She wasn’t sure how to interpret his groans, or why she was so calm under the circumstances but decided it didn’t matter. All that mattered was getting help. Although it went against her every instinct to leave him, she walked away from the car and followed the debris trail back towards the hill, realising she was unable to put much pressure on her right foot. It felt like a bad sprain in her ankle, maybe even a break. Gingerly, she hobbled towards the hillside and the inviting pale light of the moon which was now visible in the ever darkening sky.

  She knew at a glance it was impossible. Even with her foot in good order, there was no way she could climb it. The first part of it where she stood wasn’t too bad. It was rocky with clumps of yellow grass, the gradient around forty degrees. A third of the way up, a vertical wall of rock extended twenty feet or so, before the hillside resumed its upward climb toward the road. Even though it seemed impossible, she hobbled as far as she could up the hill, half walking, and half climbing as she breathed in ragged gasps. She realised as she climbed that it was impossible for anyone to see the car or her from the road. The jutting piece of rock, a natural formation, blocked any visibility from above. Even if she stood at the tree line and waved her arms, nobody could see. Even so, she made for the wall anyway; the smooth sandstone eroded into a grip less face. No handholds, no footholds. It followed the curve of the road then was swallowed by more trees. It was then, as the hopelessness of the situation dawned on her, that the tears came. She pounded her fist on the wall and screamed anyway, screamed until her throat hurt and she could taste blood. Exhausted, she slumped to a sitting position, leaning on the rock face that prevented her from getting help. They had both previously commented on how isolated it was out there. No help would come.

  We’re going to die out here.

  It was the first time she had let herself believe it could be possible, and now that it was in her head, it was all she could think about. She imagined their children having to be told the news, that their parents were dead. Worse, they would be reported as missing first, prolonging her family’s heartbreak until the wreckage of their car was found. She imagined how it would be, to die out here, either through their injuries, hypothermia or starvation. She picked up a loose handful of stones and tossed them down the hill in frustration, watching them roll and tumble into the dark. It was then that she saw the lights. From her vantage point up the hill, she could see over the treetops. Beyond the black tangle of trees which seemed to stretch forever, she could see lights. Probably a farmhouse. She imagined an old man and woman sitting in front of an open fire, the woman perhaps knitting as the man sat with his feet up after a hard day’s labour, maybe reading his paper or tucking into a bowl of hot stew. Clichéd as it was, that was how it came to her. She also saw warmth, safety and help. She saw an option where they didn’t have to die, and where their children didn’t have to be brought up as orphans. She had no option. To reach it, she would have to go through the forest. Worse, she would have to leave Andrew behind. Part of her didn’t think she could do it until she thought of the alternative. She looked again at the lights in the distance, trying to gauge how far away they were. Judging it was next to impossible, and the truth of the matter was she knew it didn’t matter. She had to get there. With renewed optimism, she scrambled back down the hill, wincing at the pain in her ankle and chest where the seatbelt had done its job and pinned her in place during the crash. She rushed back to the car, leaning in through the passenger side window. Andrew hadn’t moved and if not for his wet rasping breaths, the occasional bubble of blood forming on his lips and then popping, he could have passed for being dead. Seeing him in such a way pained her. She felt warmth on her cheeks, and absently wiped away the tears before they could settle.

  “There’s a house, looks like a farm on the other side of the woods. I’m going to get help, okay?”

  “Mnmf, Mnmf….”

  “I’ll be back as soon as I can.” She waited, expecting some kind of reply or reassurance, but he simply lay there slumped on the wheel, the fear in his eyes saying the words he was unable to vocalise. Knowing there was nothing else to be said, she left him and made her way into the trees.

  TWO

  Within minutes, the wreck of their car was lost from view, swallowed by the dense tangle of gnarled, bare branches. She inched forward, trying not to think about the fear, which had crept over her with each tentative step deeper into the dark. When the idea had struck to cross through the trees to get help, her mind’s eye had been filled with images from the countless horror movies she had seen over the years of well-lit terrain with a clearly defined path. The reality, however, was proving to be different. There was no expertly placed subtle lighting so the actors could see what they were doing, nor was there a camera crew and director to guide her through a pre-defined pathway cleared of clutter and already covered in rehearsal a dozen times. Instead, there was an all-consuming dark, a black so deep and rich that it defied belief. She moved mostly on instinct, stumbling over troublesome roots which snaked across her chosen route, almost screaming in terror every time a cold, thin branch touched her skin like the probing fingers of some leathery dead thing lurking out of sight. Even the pain in her chest and foot were secondary now, every sense was alive. With the ability to see vastly diminished, she shuffled along with her hands in front of her, groping around tree branches as she edged deeper and deeper.

  This is taking too long.

  The words repeated, over and over, each time accompanied by the image of Andrew slumped in the car, bleeding and alone. She knew she had to help him. A breeze ruffled through the trees, and she realised just how quiet it was. There were no animals making sounds, no signs of any movement of any kind, which she supposed was a good thing. She knew she was in bear country, although suspected they would likely be in hibernation by now, but couldn’t be sure. As a result, everything she did felt incredibly loud to her. She wondered how far it was to the farmhouse, and if they could get back in time to help Andy. She pushed on, determined to do all she could to save him. Ignoring the danger, she pushed on, somehow staying upright as she stumbled through the dark. She skirted around a tree, its shadow hiding the steep banking. She fell, twisting her ankle as she fell down the embankment, leaves and loose branches rolling with her. She cried out as she landed, her already bruised and beaten body subjected to further punishment. She lay there in the dark, frightened and in pain when she broke down. She started to cry, knowing every second was vital.

  There was a sound.

  She sat up, staring into the woods. She had landed in a natural clearing of sorts, the tree canopy allowing in a few filtered bars of milky moonlight to illuminate where she had fallen. She had gone over on her ankle and it throbbed with hot anger as she sat and tried to take in her surroundings. The trees were incredibly tall from where she sat, their black limbs like the arms of death itself reaching out to take her in its cold embrace. She heard it again, something stealthy moving outside the periphery of her vision. Goosebumps exploded on her arms when she realised what was happening.

  She was being watched.

  As if to confirm her suspicions, a howl, shrill and piercing exploded from somewhere ahead. Her eyes were wide as she tried to stare through the black tangle of trees, but it was impossible to tell which direction it came from.

  Fear, hot and bitter presented itself as she heard it again. Something out there was stepping on branches, crushing the dry winter leaves as it came closer, perhaps wanting her to know that it was watching. The taste intensified as she realized not only was she not alone, but the thing in the trees wasn’t either.

  It was instinct that took over next. There was no thought, no conscious decision. Hazel lurched to her feet, ignoring the pain in her ankle and the bloody grazes on her hands and knees. She ran, ignoring the sharp grasp of the bare branches which snagged her hair and skin. Around her,
the trees exploded in noise. If there had been any doubt before, it was now gone.

  She was being hunted.

  She had never known fear until then. She had seen her share of scary films and read books which caused discomfort, but she had, until that point never experienced it in its truest form. Fear she could taste, fear that felt like a separate part of her being, a hot ball of lead in her stomach. She pushed aside branches, stumbled through nettles and over stones and stubborn roots, unsure if she was even going in the right direction towards the lights she had seen. She wondered how close the things in the trees were, but couldn’t hear them anymore. She was making too much noise of her own as she ploughed ahead. Breathing became difficult, and the pain in her ankle had become a scream of agony. She couldn’t run much further, not without risking another fall that this time might be worse than a twisted ankle. If she broke a bone, then her chances of helping Andrew would be finished. There was another clearing ahead. She could see the moonlight on the ground, a vague spotlight in the opaque landscape. She ran into it, both comforted and frightened at how exposed she now was. She turned and looked back the way she had come, eyes glaring, heart thundering against her ribs as she panted and tried to get her breath back. The black trees betrayed no secrets. She held her breath and listened, straining to hear anything out of the ordinary.

  Silence.

  Apart from the sounds of her own breathing, there was no sound of any kind.

  It was probably a rat or a badger.

  She told herself this calmly, even as another voice from somewhere else in her head spoke up.

  What about the howl. That was no rat. This isn’t England now. This is the wild, the real wild. Bears, wolves. The real deal.

  She listened again, waiting for that movement, or for something to explode out of the trees, but nothing came.

  Maybe I frightened it off.

  After all, it wasn’t a movie or a book. It was real life. An animal had probably been a little curious and she’d frightened it away when she decided to charge through the trees. She smiled, more a gesture to chase away the dark than of actual happiness. She was ashamed of how easily her imagination had made the situation worse and refocused on the task. She needed to get some help, but first, her ankle needed some attention. There was a large mossy rock in the clearing. She hobbled over to it and sat down. She untied her shoe and took it off. The swelling was easily visible even in the poor light. She touched the skin and winced, wondering how much damage had been done. At best it was a very bad sprain, at worse, damaged ligaments. Even putting pressure on it hurt. She glanced up at the trees, then froze.

  Something was moving, a darker shade of black against the foliage. A growl, low and throaty came from the way she had come, and that same stealthy sound of movement. This time, the movements were slow, leisurely. The coyote stepped onto the edge of the clearing. In the pale moonlight, she could see its dark fur was scarred and patchy. Its body was lean and well-muscled, lips pulled back from yellow teeth as it growled at her. Hazel sat there, one shoe in her hand and unable to move. For a moment, human and animal stared at each other, each trying to gauge the intentions of the other. Drool hung from the coyote’s lips, pooling on the ground in front of it. It watched her, eyes fierce, breath pluming as it panted. It took another tentative step. She realised then that she had entered its territory, and its instinct was to defend it at all costs. The taste of fear which was becoming so familiar to her came back as she sat there frozen between conflicting ideas of what she should do. The options were to either run or fight and even they weren’t really options. She could barely walk, and even if running was an option, she could never beat it. If it gave chase it would win.

  Fight then.

  The voice in her head said, but even it was meek and uncertain about how she would do it. Her eyes flicked to the shoe in her hand, and without thinking she threw it, unleashing a scream of her own. The shoe hit a tree next to the coyote and its spell was broken. It retreated into the woods back the way it had come, breaking branches as it did so. Hazel stood, her one bare foot cold where it touched the freezing ground. She stared into the woods, and for a moment, there was absolute silence before the growl came again. The coyote stepped forward again, returning to its original position. It sniffed at the shoe she had thrown, then looked at her.

  It has my scent now.

  The thought was distant and at the back of her brain. The coyote turned back to her, threw its head back and let out a howl which was incredibly sharp and clear in the silence of the night. It glared at her, showing its teeth, body poised for attack. That’s when she heard the other sounds as its kin joined them, a half dozen sets of yellow eyes appearing from the trees. Hazel knew then that she was more than in trouble. Her life was in danger. Bad foot or not, she lurched into the trees, half hobbling, half running. Somehow she could almost ignore the pain in her foot knowing that self-preservation was key. Back in the clearing, the pack of coyote waited, letting their prey get a head start. Their instinct was to hunt. One by one, the other coyotes sniffed the shoe, getting the scent and making her escape from them next to impossible. The lead coyote with the scarred face and patchy fur let out a half snorted cough then broke into a loping run followed by its companions as they gave chase.

  THREE

  Something in her mind had broken. She blinked through tears, heart thumping, and breath coming in painful gasps. Fear was too weak a word for how she felt. It was something different, something beyond that particular emotion. There was almost a serenity, a calm moment of detachment as she stumbled through the trees.

  How am I still upright? How haven’t I fallen?

  Those questions were a constant, nagging at her as she blindly ran through the trees, just waiting for the pain of teeth digging into her legs as she was taken down. She wondered if it would hurt. If they would kill her straight away or toy with her first. Then she remembered Andrew, in pain and slumped in the car. He was relying on her to save him. He was relying on her to get to help, and save him.

  The lights. Get to those lights.

  They might not only be Andy’s saviour but hers too. She recalled how there was open field between the edge of the trees and the house, and she doubted the coyotes would follow that far. With renewed determination, she pushed on, almost stumbling, shoulders bouncing off tree trunks, branches grasping and scratching at her, but somehow she stayed upright. She couldn’t hear the chasing pack but knew they were close, she could sense them there, chasing her down, drawing closer and closer. It was then that she saw the break in the trees, and an ocean of long grass lit by the moon, the breeze moving it in rhythmic, almost beautiful waves. For the first time, optimism replaced fear.

  I’m going to make it.

  It was that moment when bitter cruelty struck, and Hazel Lennon’s luck ran out. She snagged her foot in a depression in the earth and pitched forward. She pinwheeled, desperately trying to keep herself upright, but the momentum was too great. She went down on the very outer edge of the woods, landing on the edge of the field hard and knocking the wind out of herself. She could see the farmhouse now, it was close enough for her to see details. It was a low, one storey building made of stone, its lights bright and welcoming. A blue pickup truck was parked by the house, behind which a red barn stood closed and locked. She tried to call out but was winded and out of breath.

  Just a few more feet, just a few more feet, just a few more feet.

  She repeated it in her head like a mantra, willing herself on, knowing she was so close.

  FOUR

  It was looking like it was going to be a good harvest. Albert Simms had worked hard to make it so and thought that this season, he might actually turn a profit. He was more than aware that as the years crept towards the big sixty, he was getting too old to keep such a heavy workload and might need to hire some more help. He sat in front of the fire, one toe poking out of the end of his sock as he let his tired body rest before it all started again the next day. His wife, Monica
, was in the kitchen, the smell of the steak and dumplings she was making causing his stomach to growl. He closed his eyes, planning to catch a quick forty winks before it was time to eat. It was then when he heard the howl rolling across the back fields. He flicked his eyes open and stood up, striding to the window and staring out. It was a clear night, the moon enjoying a cloudless sky. He scanned the wheat fields beyond the house and stared towards the trees.

  “What is it?” Monica said from the kitchen.

  He didn’t answer at first. He continued to stare at the landscape. “Goddamn coyotes again.”

  “You secured the chickens didn’t you?”

  “Course I did, but they still try to get in. That big one especially. Clever son of a bitch that one.”

  He walked to the door and stepped into his boots.

  “Where are you going?” Monica asked, following him into the sitting room.

  “No way am I letting those things get at our livestock again. I can’t afford it.”

  “Be careful, Albert,” she said as she watched him pull on his coat. “Those things are dangerous.”

  “Don’t worry, you just stay inside now,” he said. He picked up the hunting rifle from where it leaned behind the door, checked it was loaded and stepped outside.

  The cold was bitter, the fresh taste of winter hanging in the air. He walked across the gravel yard and stood at the edge of the wheat field, gun held ready. There was absolute silence.